


Remember to Dance

by rael_ellan



Category: Tin Man (2007)
Genre: (not yet anyway), Az & Ambrose, DG's there too, Friendship, Gen, Memories, and dancing, and so is Cain, but Cain doesn't dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rael_ellan/pseuds/rael_ellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Princess, would you honour me with a dance?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember to Dance

Couldn’t. Couldn’t, couldn’t wouldn’t shouldn’t couldn’t. 

That’s all the doctors and alchemists seemed to say around him. Can’t be done. Can’t take the risk. What’s to risk? He wondered. It’s just me in there. What’s wrong with making me, me again? But no one ever answered. Even DG just shrugged and sighed and said ‘I’m sure they’ll find something, eventually.’ 

Her boundless optimism was matched only by Cain’s persistent pessimism. 

“It’s not so bad, is it?” He asked one night, as they stood together on a balcony, both desperately trying to avoid the ball going on behind them. 

“What’s not?”

“Being you.”

“Me?”

“You know, being...,” he floundered for the words. _Headcase_ , Glitch thought. _A zipperhead. Lost._ “Glitch.”

“No. I suppose not.”

“You know you might have to get used to it?”

“Yes.”

And then DG had found them and dragged them both inside by their lapels, forcing them both to dance. 

Not that he minded that, of course. The dancing, that is. He loved to dance; to forget who he was supposed to be and who he wasn’t and just let the instinct take over. There was something therapeutic about it, usually. 

And then, across the hall, he caught a glimpse of the eldest princess of the OZ, standing awkwardly in the shadows, tugging on her gloves and glancing nervously at the men and women who flowed around her as though she didn’t exist. 

\---------------------------

_“I don’t want to go to the ball.”_

_Ambrose jumped at the sound of her voice and then turned to face his visitor, lips twitching into a smile without his permission._

_“Why not, Princess? You’ve been looking forward to it for so long... What changed?”_

_Azkadellia, already elegant and graceful at the age of twelve, shrugged awkwardly and slid onto one of his work benches, pulling at the long gloves her mother had insisted she wear._

_Gently, he put down his tools and went to sit beside her._

_“Azkadee?”_

_She smiled a little at the nickname and muttered something in response, blushing intently and keeping her eyes fixed on the ground._

_“What did you say?”_

_“I can’t dance.”_

_He blinked. Waited._

_She looped her fingers around her wrists and didn’t look at him._

_“Well, then, that issue can be easily assuaged. I could-“_

_“No, it’s not that. I... I know the steps, but I can’t...” She drew in a deep breath. “No one wants to dance with me. I know DG wouldn’t care and she would just_ go, _but I don’t know how to...” Her hands fell into her lap with swish._

_“Ah.”_

__That _he understood, though always from the other side. Ambrose was a brilliant dancer, if he did say so himself, but asking someone to dance? That had never been his forte._

_He wondered how it must feel for the princess, sitting straight-backed beside her mother and watching everyone else enjoy themselves. Already as stately and cultured as her mother, someday, he knew, people would turn to stare at the grace and presence of her walk. They would part like waves to let her pass with nods and curtseys and all manner of graces and gracious expectation._

_But few of them would ever gain the courage to ask her to dance._

_Azkadellia, unaware of the way she was already exalted, must have seemed like some impossible dream to the young men at the dance._

_But how to explain it?_

_“Well, Akzadee... I...”_

_She looked so small, sat beside him, eyes red with embarrassment and trying desperately, so very bravely, not to cry._

_He smiled and held out his hand. If he couldn’t explain it... Well._

_“Come on, Princess.”_

_“What? Where?”_

_But she had slid off the bench and placed her tiny hand in his before she even finished the question._

_“We’re going back to the ball.”_

_“What? No! Please, Ambrose...”_

_She tugged on his arm, her free hand clutching the door frame like a lifeline._

_He turned to kneel beside her._

_“Do you trust me, Azkadee?”_

_Slowly she nodded._

_He smiled and loosened her fingers from the door._

_“Then come with me.”_

_The ball room was still full of people. Ladies and gentlemen of the court stood chatting to each other, drinking from crystal flutes and dancing happily to the steady pulse of the music._

_Ambrose led her along the back wall of the room, sweeping them around so that they emerged onto the dance floor from the shadows, rather than being seen to just enter the room._

_He bowed to her, fighting to hide his smile as she blushed, hand still trembling in his._

_“Princess, would you honour me with a dance?”_

_People started to stare at them. Having already excused himself from the affair several hours earlier, Ambrose had changed out of his fine advisor’s uniform and into an old, oil-stained shirt. One sleeve was missing a cuff and his shoes were muddy and scuffed. Surrounded by the finery of the ballroom, he probably looked even worse than usual._

_“I...” Az looked so startled that he thought she was going to run back into the shadows. Then, she gave him a regal smile and inclined her head and stepped with him onto the floor. Her hand was still trembling in his as she studiously ignored everyone who had turned to stare at the odd pair (including, he realised, the Queen and her consort).  
Then the music began to play again, his feet found their rhythm, and Azkadellia began to laugh as he twirled her round._

\-----------

Now, fifteen annuals on, she looked just the same, he realised. Still just a little girl, afraid that no one would ask her to dance, and making herself utterly unapproachable as she clung to the wall and the shadows. 

DG had dragged Jeb Cain onto the dance floor and was studiously decimating his shaky knowledge of formal dancing. Raw had slipped out onto the balcony. Cain was anxiously glancing around, looking for something and seemingly trying to escape the Queen’s questions. Questions and questions. The palace was always full of questions. Everyone wanted him to explain them but he wasn’t him anymore, and often he just couldn’t find the right words...

Couldn’t wouldn’t shouldn’t. That’s what the doctor’s all said. 

That’s what Azkadellia said about herself, too. 

He turned and strode over to her. She looked at him, eyes wide as she tried to flatten herself against the wall. 

He bowed low and grinned up at her.

“Princess, would you honour me with a dance?”

People carried on talking around them, flowing seamlessly into and out of conversation and laughing together as they clinked glasses and gazed around them at the majesty of the restored palace. The music played on, swelling and falling and crashing as well controlled waves.

And in the far corner, against the wall, Azkadellia began to laugh as Glitch spun her round and round to his own rhythm, oblivious to the stares of the rest of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hi! I'm not new to the fandom but this is my first fic, so I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I love Glitch and Az so much, and they're both such wonderfully tragic characters. I wanted to give them a bit of happiness and got bitten by a plot-bunny. 
> 
> ...Though I suppose it might have been a mobat. I didn't actually look.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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